Willow
by Predominantly Normal
Summary: "I'll prove it to you. You'll see," he said. Craig thinks he can prove to Tweek that he loves him. Tweek isn't so sure. CREEK/FLUFF/MULTICHAP
1. Chapter 1

**I DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK**

**Written because I have a sore throat. Also, today, I climbed onto my garage roof and had a good nap up there, muttering, "I am honeybadger. and Honeybadger don't give a shit." **

**I'm bad at what I do best.**

* * *

My heart pounded, rattling my body and roaring in my ears, drowning out the violent torrents of rain. Stark's Pond seemed to be overflowing with wetness and the willow trees above provided lackluster shelter. This, incidentally, meant that I was getting soaked by the rain, and that I was shivering like a wet Chihuahua. I coughed into my arm, hugging myself to preserve what little warmth I had. I swiped away the damp hair sticking to my forehead and huddled closer to the bark.

I should've been home right now. God, what I'd pay to be home right now. Well actually, I only had thirteen dollars and twenty-seven cents to my name, but hell, I'd pay that if I could! It was actually a pretty mild tempered day for us stuck in South Park, but the pouring rain just makes the meager thirty degree temperature even worse. I was definitely going to catch a cold by time this cleared up. And that time doesn't appear to be anywhere close.

My breath hitched as I had another fit of coughing. Damn, if I got a fever and died, it was all going to be _his_ fault.

* * *

"_Tweek! What's wrong with you?" Craig grabbed my shoulders gently, tugging me to his chest. I flushed cranberry red and avoided his gaze. I was hyper-aware that he was staring at me, and that we were so close that I could feel the heat radiate off his body._

"_N-nothing, Craig. Let go," I snapped, jerking my shoulders away from his grasp. _

"_Come on, man. You've been avoiding me all week. I want to know what's up," he urged, big blue eyes flashing with hurt. It was still noticeably warm where he last touched my arms. _

"_I have? Y-you must be m-mistaken," I shot at him, itching to get away. _

"_No, I'm not! You're doing it right now! Please, Honey?" Damn, I melted when he used that stupid pet name. It's because I always took a teaspoon of honey with my coffee. It's totally the gayest thing ever, but he's always called me 'honey', and I've always loved it, even if I was a little too stubborn to admit it._

"_Craig I… I gotta g-go," I muttered, "See you." I started to walk down the hall hurriedly._

"_I'm sorry, Tweek," he whispered. I stopped, turning around. _

"_Y-you never did anything! Oh jeez," I exclaimed, mostly out of nerves. Craig took three long strides to close the gap between him and me so that our stomachs were just barely touching. _

"_No. I'm sorry for this. I love you, Tweek," he said quietly before grabbing the back of my head and connecting our lips. It wasn't rough or passionate, just gentle and sweet. I shoved him off of me and shook wickedly, tremors running up my spine like little ants and not stopping. _

"_I've got to go!" I shouted before running out of the building and blindly racing about town until collapsing under the willow trees in Stark's Pond. It was about then that the rain started to drizzle, too._

* * *

I closed my eyes and tried to steady my quaking. I don't know why I had to go and push him away. I've been infatuated with him for a little while now. Maybe since he started acting nicer to me in less friendly ways and more brotherly? I'm not sure. I just think that he's confused. He's not gay. Of that, I'm sure. He's just a little confused because there's a somewhat blurred line between best friend and lover.

It was what was best. For both of us. If he tricked himself into falling in love with a guy (above all else, _me) _then he'd just end up feeling like he'd made a huge mistake. And then he'd break it off, and I'd be a sobbing mess, because I know I'd convince myself that he just might really love me. And honestly, we all know that's impossible.

I'm insufferable.

I slowed my breathing and tried to concentrate on what little heat I did have. My eyesight started to fade, and my eyelids drooped over my eyes.

* * *

When I awoke, I was in a familiar warm room and tucked into a safe, warm bed. There was a nice heat blanket or something pressed up against my side, and I instinctively curled up closer to it to get more of that fantastic warmth. It was just around then that I felt an equally comforting hand finger through my intolerable blond hair, and I realized that the heat blanket was not, in fact, a heat blanket at all, but rather a person.

My eyes shot open and I stared wide-eyed at Craig Tucker, who was stroking my hair absentmindedly. He noticed my stare and visibly tensed.

"Hey, Honey. You doing alright?" he asked in a soft, maternal voice.

"F-fine," I croaked out, my voice sounding hoarse and feeble. My throat was sore, and my whole body ached, and I was sweating like mad. No, I was certainly not fine, thank you for asking.

"I think I should get you something to drink. Ginger Ale sound good?" Craig mumbled, uncomfortably shifting and getting out of the bed. I just nodded, groaning and closing my eyes again. My breath was vile and hot, and it sucked having to breathe it in again after breathing it out. I hoped I wouldn't infect all of Craig's nice bed sheets with my gross sickness.

Craig came back up two minutes later with a glass of ginger ale and some Dayquil. "Take this," he ordered, passing me the little medicine cup. I downed it, making a sour face afterwards, and washing it down with the ginger ale. "You'll feel better soon," he murmured. I nodded groggily, beckoning for him to come and be my personal body warmer again. He complied silently, getting under the covers and leaning against the headrest as I clung to his lean and muscled frame.

"Look, Tweek, About today…" Craig sighed heavily, crossing his arms and closing his eyes.

"S'okay, Craig. You were just c-confused. I d-don't mind," I said, closing my eyes and starting to drift off again. "I didn't mean to cause you t-trouble or anything."

"No! No, I mean; it's alright. No problem," Craig said awkwardly. "You were passed out in a thunderstorm, that's all. But, uh- I really do love you, Tweek. I'm not confused, and I'm not sorry, either."

"You are c-confused," I insisted. "You can't love me. I'm i-insufferable."

"Huh?"

"You'll see. You're gonna grow up and grow out of whatever phase you're in and find a p-pretty girl, and have lots of nice sons and daughters. I won't e-even matter to you then," I was sick, and I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't understand how everything came out. I could, however, understand how hurt Craig looked.

"I'm sorry, Tweek, but you're wrong. My whole life knowing you is not a phase. I'll prove it to you. You'll see."

I gave him a doubtful smile, snuggling into his chest. "Okay," I said hesitantly.

"Starting now," he declared, kissing me on my chapped lips again. I wasn't sure how to move them or anything, so I just laid there and tried not to do anything stupid. His hands traveled up my scrawny chest and knotted themselves in my hair. He pulled away with a grin on his face.

"Gross. You taste like Dayquil," he snickered.

"Let me sleep, bastard," I shot back.


	2. Chapter 2

**I DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK**

**A/N: Thank you to everybody that reviewed, followed or Favorited! I really have no motivation to continue this so be prepared for unabashed bad humor and crack.**

* * *

The rain had finally stopped pouring, and I was sitting on the bench in the dugout, thankful that it wasn't damp enough to wet my pants. Early spring requires just about every boy in South Park to get their caps and gloves and play ball, despite our obvious disinterest. It's been six days since I fell asleep out by the willow trees and Craig took me and promised that he'd prove he loved me.

What a gaywad.

I lean against the fence blocking the dugout from the field. I don't do a lot of the really strenuous fielding drills because I'm a reserve hitter and occasionally in the left-outfield if absolutely nessecary. Craig and Stan fight over being pitcher every year, and every year Stan wins. I don't think I could be a pitcher. Too much pressure. I can hardly play left-outfield. The only reason I'm on the team since they began tryouts is because I can hit a ball far and run like hell.

"Tweek."

"Gaha!" I yelp, jumping out of my seat and shoving my red cap over my wild hair. "Yes?"

"You're hitting for the fielding drills," Kevin Stoley says, ruffling my hair affectionately and going to sit down. He's sweating all over, and it's gross, but I'm going to be in even uglier shape soon. I don't have a lot of stamina, and they usually pitch a ton before it's break time. "Good luck," he says with a snort. Kevin's our center fielder, and he can name every baseball player that ever lived and their stats from any year. He's basically the only kid who actually likes playing.

I grab my silver beat-down bat and throw on a helmet, scrambling to home base and trying not to knock over the equipment in the cramped dugout.

"Okay, Tweek!" Stan calls from the pitcher's mound. "Hit it to left field! Pop up, if you can."

I snort. Of course I can. Though I've done this several thousand times before, and I'm confident I can do it, I'm still shaking, and there's still an anxious churning in my gut. Stan pitches one right down the middle and I whack it, sending it flying to Butters up in left field. He runs to get it, but falls mid run and has to pick himself back up to get it and run it to the grassline before he throws it to Kyle at second base. He can only throw so far, I guess.

"Again! One more time!" Stan yells.

One more time turns into seven more times, which turns into fourteen more times, and by the time we're on our twenty-fourth time, I'm seething and sore. Craig notices this, I guess, and he trots over to Stan to suggest break time. Stan nods. "A'ight. One more, then get some water. Tweek!" -I let out a neccessary scream- "Run on this one! Shoot it over to Center, though."

Stan throws another one straight down the center, and I hit it right at the sweet spot and send it soaring over both Kyle's and Kevin's heads. I take off running, squeaking for them to not hit me and to watch out. I round first base, then second, and as I make my way to third, I feel a sharp pain in my thigh, and my shoes lose their ground, and I go crashing into the mud. I can hear Craig screaming something from third base and I can feel myself trying not to cry.

Because that'd just be the icing on the cake, wouldn't it?

I pick myself up and limp over to third, and trot off the pain all the way back to home base. Craig grabs me by the shoulders to steady me and glares at Kenny.

"Throw the fucking ball hard next time, McCormick," Craig snaps, letting me wrap my arm around his neck to hop to get my things.

"Sorry," Kenny shrugs, not seeming very sorry at all.

"Took one for the team," Kevin says, patting me on the back. Craig growls at him, too.

"Uh," Stan looks at us awkwardly. "Good practice," he says lamely. Everyone collects their belongings and shuffles off, leaving me to wince in pain, and for Craig to continue looking like something very unpleasent got shoved up his ass. He smiles the tiniest bit when the last person leaves, and he leans up to kiss my cheek. That's the one thing I haven't gotten used to. The kissing.

I smack him away on reflex, then immediately scream out an apology; "Oh my god I'm so sorry I didn't mean to! Please forgive me, I'm stupid and-" Craig rolls his eyes and ignores me, gently nudging me and urging me to lay on my stomach. I agree reluctantly, and try not to get splinters along the way.

"What're you doing?!" I yelped, my words riddled with stutters and pauses and shrieks.

"Chill the fuck out, Honey. I'm just checking to see how bad it is," Craig mutters. He gently places his palm on my lower thigh and starts moving up until he prods the bruise and I whimper. He pokes at it again. "How bad?" he asks.

"Lots! Stop it, asshole!" I yell, moving to change my position. However, the pain in my thigh prevents me from moving to fast, and Craig manages to hold me down without even trying.

"Calm down. Look, I'm going to pull your pants down-"

"WHAT!?" I roar hysterically.

"Stop squirming! I'm not going to molest you, goddammit, I just wanna see if you're okay!" Craig growls, short on his temper. I shut up because you do not want to defy the man who is holding you by the pants strap. He pulls them off delicately, and I begin to wish I had worn regular underwear and not gray coffee cup ones. He grimaces when he sees the bruise.

"It's bad," he whispers. "Come on, let's go home, man."

"Okay!" I shout, pulling my pants up faster than I knew I could currently and rolling off the bench. I snatch up my baseball bag and helmet and take off down the field. Like I said, I can run like hell. What I'm running from? Probably a very intense moment of homoerotic bliss. Thanks, but I'd rather not take one up the butt today. I manage to half-run half-skip to my house and race in, up into my room, and slam the door. I change quickly into regular attire (A button down and jeans), and back downstairs just as Craig walks in. He sighs.

"Jesus, what the heck?" he snaps.

"Gah! I want coffee!" I declare, walking up to the coffee machine and making myself a pot. I feel a pair of arms coil around me from behind and I have to force myself not to freak out and hurt Craig. He rests his nose and lips on my neck, which feels pretty nice, honestly.

"I love you, Tweek," Craig says. I roll my eyes. He's made it a point to say that every single day. It's starting to lose meaning, honestly. I say it back nonetheless and let Craig cuddle against my back. It's kind of nice like this, actually. I think I like it.

I pour myself a mug of coffee and get a cup of orange juice for Craig. He takes it eagerly and drinks it down almost as fast as I drink down my coffee. I think this kind of serenity is something rare, and it's just plain good. The warmth of being in a safe house with a good friend (Sort-of boyfriend?) and drinking coffee. It just makes me this much more sure that something awful is to come.


End file.
